


Stormy Monday Blues

by Shazrolane



Series: We'll Meet Again [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>You</i> go home!” Steve hit Oliver as hard as he could. In return, Oliver socked him in the side and knocked him into the wall. He threw punches wildly, but none of them connected.   Instead, a hard shove knocked him onto his back. His head hit the hard packed earth, and his vision whited out in a flash of pain. </p>
<p>But then Bucky jumped in, appearing in the fight as suddenly and as fiercely as a summer thunderstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stormy Monday Blues

**Author's Note:**

> A/N possible trigger warning – Two sixteen year olds have their first sexual encounter with each other. I didn’t think that was young enough for the Archive warning, but I figured I would warn here so no one would get surprised by it.

[ Stormy Monday Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSi20jbfcbE)  
***  
**Powerful**  
It was 1926, and Steve Rogers was eight years old. 

He was walking home when he saw Oliver Curry and Virgil Cobb throwing rocks into an alley, laughing and jeering. He dropped his books and ran, ignoring the pressure building in his chest. There was a tiny ball of fur about halfway down the alley, huddling behind a tin can and mewing piteously.

He shoved Virgil as hard as he could. “Leave it alone!” Steve yelled. 

“Aw, what’re you yappin’ about? It’s just some alley cat. Go home, momma’s boy!”

“ _You_ go home!” Steve hit Oliver as hard as he could. In return, Oliver socked him in the side and knocked him into the wall. He threw punches wildly, but none of them connected. Instead, a hard shove knocked him onto his back. His head hit the hard packed earth, and his vision whited out in a flash of pain. 

But then another boy jumped in, appearing in the fight as suddenly and as fiercely as a summer thunderstorm. 

“God damned piece of shit no good slackers!” He threw a handful of the dirt from the alleyway into Virgil’s eyes, then stomped on Oliver’s feet. Oliver howled and scrambled out of the alley, while Steve grabbed Virgil’s ankles and tripped him. The new boy headed out after Oliver, then paused.

“I’ve got this,” Steve wheezed while Virgil tried to clear his eyes.

“Attaboy!” the stranger said, then tore out of the alley after Oliver.

From years of medical advice, Steve had a good idea of where to hurt someone. He scraped the sole of his shoe down Virgil’s shin, making him howl, then jammed his thumb in between two of Virgil’s ribs. He writhed, hitting the wall of the alley. Virgil reached out and dug his fingers into the cracks between the bricks, pulling himself up. 

The new boy came back just as Virgil was climbing to his feet, so he shoved him back down and kicked him in the backside. “Scram, you no good piker!” He stood guard while Virgil scrambled away. Steve levered himself into a crouch, and took a minute to catch his breath, staring up at the stranger. The new kid yelled and cursed and fought dirtier than anyone Steve had ever seen, and it was a thing of beauty.

The boy grinned. “Heard my dad say all that stuff once, always wanted to use it.” He stuck out his hand. “Bucky Barnes, who’re you?” 

Steve shook his hand. “Steve Rogers.” Bucky used his hand to haul him to his feet and held him steady with a hand on his shoulder while he coughed. “You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve got ‘em in the end.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky agreed easily. “But I figured better to help end it faster, for the kitten ‘n all. I gotta sister that can take of it, unless you wanted it?”

“Naw, she can have it.”

For some reason that Steve never really understood, this force of nature never left him. Bucky stuck by his side, promoted him to leader and championed his causes. He became Steve’s fists, gave him a body to use that was finally as powerful as his mind could ever dream up.

He became Steve’s conscience, too. As soon as a body other than his own was on the line, Steve reconsidered some of his fights. He spent his friend’s willingness to fight frugally, and learned how to fight with his words and actions, not just his fists.

***

(By the way, the two boys carried the kitten home and proudly presented it to Bucky’s sister Rebecca. The cat grew into an enormous fluffy cat with a perpetually angry expression and a habit of puking in shoes. It loved Rebecca, ignored Steve and bit Bucky at least once a week, mostly because he was convinced the cat liked to wrestle. It lived for sixteen years and had four litters of kittens. One of Bucky’s grand nephews has descendants of that cat to this day, all named after the Howling Commandoes.) 

 

***  
**Enlightening**  
It was February 1929, and Steve Rogers was ten years old. 

There was a storm outside, strong enough to rattle the windows and coat them in rivers of water. He was trying to draw by the fading light when the fire escape gave a particularly strong rattle. 

Bucky’s brown hair came into view, followed by the rest of him, soaking wet in the downpour. “Lemme in!” he yelled over the next roll of thunder, and Steve scrambled to open the window. Water poured off of Bucky in steady rivulets, making it immediately clear that a towel wasn’t going to do much good on the saturated cotton and wool. 

“No help for it,” Bucky declared, and stripped down to his skivvies , grabbing a towel and vigorously drying off his hair while Steve tossed his wet clothes into the kitchen sink for now. Then Bucky picked up the oiled canvas bag he’d had slung over his back and grinned. “Look what I brought!” He dug into the bag and triumphantly held aloft three copies of _Amazing Stories_ and a new flashlight. “Late birthday present from one of my uncles.” 

“Why’d you come all the way over here?” Steve asked. 

Bucky looked incredulous. “Who else was I gonna share it with? Everyone else just reads a story and then they’re done. You’re the only one I know who wants to talk about ‘em afterwards.” 

“I just end up with a lot of questions afterwards, is all,” Steve said as he went to get a blanket off his bed, Bucky trailing behind him with the towel around his shoulders. 

“Well, yeah! That’s best part, thinking up our own stuff.” Instead of pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed, Bucky pulled off his still wet underpants, finished drying and clambered into the bed. 

Steve hurriedly pulled off his shirt and shorts, and climbed under the blanket while Bucky was distracted with the flashlight. He’d always felt nervous, stripping in front of other boys at the YMCA for swimming. But Bucky never said anything, never made him feel small. Steve wriggled closer, to take advantage of Bucky’s body heat in the chill air. Their little nest soon turned warm, as they took turns holding the flashlight or reading aloud the adventures of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century! 

When they finished the book, Bucky shoved the blanket down and rolled over onto his back. “Can you imagine what it would be like to go to sleep for five hundred years?” He grinned, his face illuminated briefly by lightning outside. “Bucky Barnes in the 25th Century!” 

“Seems kinda lonely to me,” Steve said. 

Bucky grabbed him around the head and pulled him close. “Then I’ll just have to bring you along as my sidekick! It’s perfect; between the two of us we even got the same name – Bucky and Rogers! We’d be better at it than that other guy, at any rate.” 

Steve gathered up his notebook and a pencil. “So we just woke up and came stumbling out of the mine. What happens?” Bucky narrated and Steve drew long into the night. The world outside was dark and rainy, but their nest was warm and bright. 

***  
**Energized**  
It was 1934 and Steve Rogers was sixteen. 

His mom worked the night shift almost exclusively now that times were so tough, so Bucky was over most nights, to read comic books and just to shoot the breeze. Lately, he’d started bringing over eight pagers along with the comics. 

“Here, you’ll like this one.” Bucky shoved a book his way. 

Steve opened it up. The first panel he saw was two men, stroking each other’s cocks. Steve stared for a moment, then he shoved the book away. “Bucky! That’s not –“ 

“I’ve seen you looking at guys,” Bucky said easily, thumbing through another book without meeting his eyes. “It’s okay, I like looking at guys too.” 

Steve felt as if the world was skidding out from underneath him, like bad shoes on ice. “But you talk about girls all the time.” 

Bucky nodded. “Girls are fun, and they’re soft and I like how they smell. But I like how guys look better.” He looked over at Steve, his face calm, like this was any other conversation. “I like how you look.” 

Steve felt his face growing red. “Bucky, I…” 

“S’okay if you don’t think about me that way. You’re my best friend and I’m happy with that.” Bucky picked up an adventure comic and started reading. 

Steve’s heart thumped unsteadily in his chest and he started sweating. The gap between them on the bed was small enough to be bridged by his hand, and as huge as an ocean. 

Steven Grant Rogers had never backed down from a fight in his life, not even with himself. He leaned forward and inexpertly kissed Bucky on the lips. 

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s cheek and returned the kiss, almost shyly. “You sure?” he asked when Steve pulled back, his voice husky. 

“I, uh, I really like you, Buck,” Steve said, then winced. _Real smooth there, Rogers._

Bucky just wrapped a hand around the back of his head, pulled him closer and kissed him, as sudden as a summer squall that blew in out of nowhere. They spent hours that night, just kissing, and many more hours in the months and years that followed, learning each other’s bodies. 

(He’d heard that the French called it “the Little Death,” and he understood why. His heart pounded, his lungs froze up for a few seconds and everything around him whited out like he’d been struck by lightning. Between his asthma and heart problems, it might kill him yet, but it was the best death he could think of. )  
***  
**Cauterized**  
It was April 6th, 1942 and Steve Rogers was 21. 

Bucky was reading aloud at their kitchen table. “Greetings. Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States, you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and services therein. You will, therefore, report to the local board named above at 7:15 am on the 17th day of April, 1942.” Bucky folded the letter and stared down at the table. 

Steve’s mouth went dry, but he forged on determinedly. “I’ll go with you and enlist at the same time.” 

Bucky turned to him with a mirthless smirk. “They’d give ya the bum’s rush at the door. You know that.” 

He pulled his shoulders back and straightened his spine. “I want to do my part!” 

“You _can_ do your part,” Bucky said, his hands up in an obvious attempt to calm him down. “They need people here on the home front, to do all the jobs to support troops.” 

Steve’s fists clenched, and his entire body shook. “I want to fight, Bucky, you _know_ that.” Sure he wasn’t as strong as the other guys, but a rifle didn’t care how big the person pulling the trigger was. From all of the stories they’d read late at night, war took guts and determination, and he had both of those. 

“I know, Steve, I know.” Bucky reached across the table and took Steve’s hands in his larger ones, the fight scars across the knuckles showing pale against the rest of his sunbrowned skin. “But you still gotta pass the physical. They’d disqualify you on your asthma alone. And the heart thing. C’mon. Don’t do this. At least if you stay here you’ll be safe.” 

Steve pulled his hand back. “Safe? You think that's what I want? You think I want to be _safe_ while people are out there fighting? Jesus, Bucky, I never thought I'd hear that from _you_!” 

“Of _course_ I want you to be safe! I gotta know you’re safe, because otherwise there’s no way I can do this. If I have to do this, I need to know that it means something to _me_ , that I’m doing it for you.” 

“I can't sit back and let someone else do this for me, Buck, not even if that someone is you. Don't think I'm not grateful, because I am, but I need to prove to myself and everyone else that I can do this.” 

“Who the hell you gotta prove anything to?” Bucky yelled, his face red. “You’re the bravest guy I know! Your mom knew it, my folks know it, anyone who really knows you sees you. Who the fuck is left that matters?” 

Steve was growing hot, his heart racing. “You've been strong your whole life, Bucky. You don't get it, you never will.” 

“What is there to get?” Bucky shoved back from the table. “That you’re hell bent on killing yourself for no goddamned reason? You don’t stand a chance over there!” 

“Well it’s good to know what you think of me!” Steve grabbed his hat and opened the door. 

Bucky took two quick strides and slammed the door shut. “Where the hell did that come from? I didn’t say –“ 

Steve interrupted. “Then what exactly are you saying Barnes?” 

Bucky swore. “I’m saying...I don’t want to leave you.” 

“Because I can’t handle being on my own?” Steve was shaking with rage. 

“Because how the hell am I supposed to go over there if I'm—“ Bucky stopped in midsentence, pressing his lips together and looking away. When he looked back to Steve, his eyes were stormy. “You know what? Be my fucking guest. Go sign up. Why should I be the only one who dies? You think the only reason I wanna look after you is 'cause you can't handle being by yourself? Fine. Guess I won't have to worry about you at all, then. 'Least that'll be one less thing on my conscience.” He turned and stomped off to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve stood for a moment, his head bowed, then continued on to the recruitment office. 

Hours later, he returned, closing the door with a soft click. He put his hat on the nail in the wall, and fell down onto the couch, holding his head in his hands. 

Bucky came out and sat down next to him, his clasped hands between his knees. “What happened?” 

“You know damn well what happened. I got rejected.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly. 

“No you –“ Steve took a deep breath, then let it out in a defeated sigh. “Yeah.” He leaned on Bucky and whispered sincerely, “Thanks.” 

“I know how much you want to go over there. How much you want to fight. And it’s not fair that you can’t.” 

Steve smoothed the fabric of his worn pants over his knee. “I guess you're going to have to fight this one for me, too. Just like every other fight.”

“Yeah. And the funny thing is, I don't want to. I want to stay here with you.” 

“I know.” 

Bucky gave a humorless smile. “You'd be thrilled to leave my ugly mug behind, huh? Don't blame ya.” Bucky leaned his elbow on the couch arm and covered his eyes. 

“Leaving you is the only thing I would regret.” Steve put his arm around Bucky and Bucky put his hand over it. 

They sat there for a few minutes, then Bucky dropped his hand and gently moved Steve’s arm. He stood up. “Better get to bed. I got an early start tomorrow, and I need to tell my boss I'm not going to be there next week.” 

“Okay, Buck. I...” 

Bucky stopped without turning around. “What?” 

“I love you, you know.” 

Bucky’s voice was rough, and he didn’t meet Steve's eyes. “Yeah. Likewise.” 

  
**Electrocution**

It was June, 1943, and Steve Rogers was 25. 

He wiped his hands against his thighs, then held them there to disguise their shaking as the metal pads closed over him. _I can do this,_ he told himself. 

He could do this, he _had_ to do this, to make his life mean something, to be on the front lines. _To be with Bucky._

Dozens of needles stabbed his chest, back, thighs and arms. The serum pierced him, pushing its cold fingers deep into his core, the pain no easier for being expected. 

The Rebirth machinery sealed around him, trapping him with his own exhaled air and his thoughts. It was already hotter inside the closed capsule, and the sweat began pooling in the small of his back. His breaths were coming more quickly now, using up the limited supply of air. _Well, if this kills me, at least I’m already in a coffin,_ he thought. 

The metal casket vibrated as tubes started glowing, quickly growing to a light far brighter than staring at the Sun. The light seared through his eyelids, burned through into his brain and his body, sinking into his bones, forcing his muscles to spasm. Electricity seared through him, locking him in a cage built of his own body. 

The screams burst through his lips. 

Voices from the outside. “Shut it down! Shut it down!” “Shut the reactor down!” 

“No!” Steve forced the words past his clenched jaw. “I can do this!” 

The humming grew louder until it encompassed the world, and the light impossibly flashed brighter and brighter. The electricity surged through him again, scorching everything. His skin was two sizes too small, his skeleton burst through his flesh, his muscles seared. 

_I can do this._

_For the war._

_For my country._

_For Bucky._

The capsule opened to a new world. 

**Author's Note:**

> End Note: This fills the “Electrocution” card of my Hurt/Comfort Bingo.  
> I’ve generally chosen to go with more historically accurate dates over the official Marvel dates when there was a conflict. 
> 
> Yes, nude swimming at the YMCA was real http://www.vocativ.com/culture/fun/fairly-recently-ymca-actually-required-swimmers-nude/
> 
> Buck Rogers https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buck_Rogers I’ll admit to a bit of fudging; in 1929 the character was Anthony Rogers, but I wanted readers to be able to identify the character readily, so I used the later, more popular name.
> 
> Draft documents http://www.nationalww2museum.org/learn/education/for-students/ww2-history/take-a-closer-look/draft-registration-documents.html?referrer=https://www.google.com/


End file.
